Entry 1 – Day 117

Brin Salisir, a name that has haunted me all my life. Just over two decades have passed since Brin Salisir made my days a waking hell. Seven years we are called to train to earn our right. Seven brutal years where everything is stripped away from us, cleansed by pain and discipline. The first two years of that torment was increased tenfold by Salisir.

He beat us. Unlike any other of our instructors, Salisir would reward failure with physical harm. I carry two of the scars to this day.

Then Salisir was exiled to the Nanten. It was the worst fate he could have received, and the greatest relief of my young life. I won’t lie to you, hearing that Salisir was being sent to his death made me happy. Truly happy.

Rumors circulated that some Daedric prince had claimed the Nanten Kingdom, a country as large as any two provinces in the Old Empire. No one had confirmed this. Salisir was expected to do just that, and to kill this prince should Salisir find him. It was a death sentence.

No Imperial went to the Nanten any longer. They hadn’t for nearly a century. The few who did never returned. The tales fed to the world by traders on its fringe only inspired horror stories that cemented the world’s distance.

That hasn’t changed in the last twenty years.

Twenty years ago Salisir disappeared. Twenty years have passed since he was sent on a mission that would only ever be given to someone in disgrace. Someone the Tetrarch would rather see dead than in its service. And now I am to follow in his footsteps. To my death, I am sent to find him.

This is my punishment. But if nowhere else, I may plead my own case in ink, even as I approach a certain death. I hope against all odds to explain these things to you in person one day. I won’t hold it against you if you have turned your back on me as all others have. But if I am never to see you again, I hope that these words find you. I hope that as I fill out this journal you discover that I died as honorably as I once lived.

Already three months have passed since my exile began. Three of the most difficult months of my war-scarred life. Now that my companions have joined me, I may truly begin.

Tomorrow we must find a way to cross the Blight Sea. If we cannot, all this will be for naught. It is our path into the jungle of the Nanten. Tomorrow I begin my journey in earnest, to discover what happened on Salisir’s final mission and, perhaps, to finish what he started. If I am lucky, I may survive long enough to deliver this journal to you myself.

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About the Author

Marceles na Tetrarch was born to Syltra and Tyrion in 1106 PA. A rising star among the Tetrarch, his career remained untarnished for nearly 15 years before he was condemned to exile in the failed state of the Nanten Kingdom. His crimes sent shockwaves throughout the Old Empire, and nearly ruined the Tetrarch's relationship with the High King. He writes now to exonerate his name - even as he approaches a certain death in the obscurity of the jungle.

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